Fractured Sun
by ALC Punk
Summary: Scarinsert. There's nowhere else to go. What happened to Kara before she huddled in the pilots' briefing room with her ambrosia? Kara ThraceWilliam Adama.


Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: 18+ Sex. Language.  
Pairing: Kara/Adama, refrences: Kara/Anders, Kara/Lee, Kara/Helo.  
Spoilers: Big time. 'Scar' episode insert. In two parts.  
Length: 2,000ish, total. Half that for each.  
Notes: rabbitthewise WORST INFLUENCE EVER. This should have been finished last night, but random asparagus intruded.  
Summary: There's nowhere else to go.  
Part one is the disturbing part. Part two has no smut. 

**Fractured Sun   
**by ALC Punk!

Lee thinks too much. Has always thought too much. Kara feels like she's known this forever. The Adama men have a bad habit of thinking too long, and too hard, and too carefully.

Except when it comes to her. And then only Lee thinks too hard.

It shouldn't be a surprise that he's still awake when she knocks on the hatch. Her clothing is as straight as it can be, but if you know what you're looking for, she missed a button on her pants, and the tanks aren't tucked in. The bottle of ambrosia in her hand is heavy.

"Starbuck."

The thought occurs to her that this is the stupidest idea she's had yet. Far worse than passing Zak on his exam. Worse than the last time she turned up on his doorstep, rain dripping from her nose (she refused to believe it was tears), eyes wide and begging. He hadn't gotten it until she kissed him wildly, almost begging for him to hurt her.

He hadn't. Though he should have.

But then, last time, she called him 'Zak'. Maybe this is penance.

"Sir." Kara licks her lips, tries to think of something to say that will convey what she needs. Maybe he'll pat her on the back and send her on her way. Except that there's no one left. Helo's off-limits, despite being in love with a Cylon.

But something shifts in his expression and he backs up. "Come in, Starbuck."

There's nothing she can say, so she moves instead. Waits until the hatch closes, sets the bottle of ambrosia down and then reaches out, hand grabbing his collar. He lets her pull him close, and when her lips clash against his, a soft sound escapes him.

She remembers this. Last time, he was gentle, her hands fisted in his uniform greys as his fingers and tongue worked across her until she broke, sobbing. It was the second time he saw her cry.

There's nothing gentle about the way he presses her into the wall. Not quite slamming, but she's going to have a line of bruise down her left side. Probably. It depends on if the vessels broke close enough to the skin.

Her hands yank his jacket open, then off as his mouth works its way down her neck.

Kara tries to be silent.

One of them growls, and she has no idea who it is. Doesn't care when his hand slips into her pants, fingers finding her easily. And she's already wet and desperate.

Definitely her that growls, the second time.

One finger, and it's not enough. She's suddenly begging, scaring the hell out of herself until he complies, second finger sliding in. Her legs part further, stretching the material and giving him more room to maneuver. And it's still not enough until his teeth close on her shoulder.

She clamps her lips closed, unwilling to find out whose name she'll whimper. With her luck, it'd be Gaius.

He doesn't stop when she climaxes, doesn't even slow down until she's limp, gasping and shaking. Then he slows his hand and eventually removes it.

Only his body pinning her against the wall is holding her up.

A shift, and she can feel him against her hip. His knees won't take a frak against the wall, and his heart--well, she's not going to consider that. Not yet.

Maybe later, when she's sober.

"Bed," she whispers against his neck, pushing a little at his chest.

She almost trips on her sagging pants before ripping them off in irritation and following him. Her mouth finds his, and for just a moment, the kiss is chaste.

His hands cradle her face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks gently. And that's too much.

This isn't about connection.

Kara shoves her hand down his pants and grazes him with her fingers.

A groan escapes him.

The kiss changes, and she tries hard not to pop a button off his jacket, then gives up because her fingers aren't quite working. One yank, and the lapels are finally open enough and she runs her free hand down his chest, then shoves.

He lands on the bed and they both work on getting his shirts and pants off.

Kara pauses to stare at him before climbing after, still with her tanks on. The surgical scar is still pale pink against the paleness of his skin. The dusting of hair is distracting, and she suddenly wonders if Zak would have looked like this in twenty years.

The thought gets shoved away as she moves up, straddling his legs as she bends over and licks his chest like a cat. From navel to sternum, up the scar. It's morbid and strangely fascinating, and she does it again before giving into his tugging at her shoulder and moving up.

Still wet and slick, it takes very little effort to slide down onto him and they both gasp.

Last time, she remembers rain. And he had a cold for three days afterwards. She never bothered blaming it on herself.

She bends down and licks at the scar as she rides him with swift, precise strokes. Like most men, he's easy to read and within a short time he's writhing beneath her, breath coming in pants.

Very careful not to leave a mark, she nips at his chest. Wouldn't do for the Admiral to be seen with love bites.

The intense need abated, Kara leans against his chest. She doesn't want to feel content, but her skin has stopped buzzing and she thinks she can sleep now.

Adama's hand gently smooths through her hair.

The gesture is too gentle, too careful, and she jerks back, slides out of the bed and scrambles for her clothing. She shoves her underwear in a pocket and yanks her pants on without looking at him. She doesn't bother with her boots. Shoe-less Starbuck isn't going to disturb anyone.

He doesn't try to stop her.

On her way to the door, she detours for her bottle of ambrosia.

--

"Kara."

The hand on her shoulder is gentle. She sucks in a breath and wakes, wincing. The smell of sex hits her, followed by the kink in her neck and the taste in her mouth that says she's going to lose dinner. Not that she remembers having dinner. She's still slumped in the pilots' briefing room. She wonders when the cockpit footage finally shut off.

"Kara."

It occurs to her as Helo drags her upright, arms gentle, that this could be a year ago. Just another night on Galactica, with Helo having to drag Starbuck back to her rack after another quick frak with a faceless marine. They're not faceless anymore. The thought makes her want to cry.

A year ago, she didn't know Samuel Anders.

"C'mon, Starbuck." He's moving them, competent as always. Helo got good at this during their two-year stint as the screw-up and the martyr of Galactica.

A giggle escapes her.

"Stop that, or the shower's going to be cold."

She stops as abruptly as she started, and finally opens her eyes to look at him. "Just like old times?"

"Yeah." He avoids her eyes, though, even as he shifts her and continues their progress down the corridor. "Just like old times," he repeats, tone bland.

The strangeness almost stops her, but he said the magic words about water and soap, and she can feel her skin trying to crawl off her body. Her stomach is still considering the option of climbing its way out, too.

Routine settles in when they reach the showers. Helo props her up, finds soap. Finally starts helping her strip--because if he didn't start, she'd forget and walk in fully-clothed. He learned that one the hard way, and she cursed for hours about getting her flight suit wet. So had the quartermaster, and Kara had worn slightly moldy leather for a week before the pilots all got sick of it and descended on the poor man en masse to claim Starbuck a new flight suit.

He leaves her to the rest of her clothes. Once started, she generally makes it all the way to bare skin. Although there was that time Boomer had to remind her about her socks.

Boomer. She doesn't flinch, thinking about her ex-friend.

A few minutes later, she's got soap in one hand, and a determination not to lose the little she has in her stomach as she makes her way into the showers.

It's not until she's leaning against the tiles, water washing the soap off, that she wonders what his problem is.

The thought of asking him and finding out someone else has lost their faith in her is a little too much.

A few minutes of heat and then the water slides to cold. Cursing, she spins the taps off and drags herself out of the shower. A moment to re-orient her pounding skull with the layout of the room and she heads for the front.

Once there, she tries to remember what comes next.

Helo walks back in, pile of laundry in his arms.

"Brought you a towel."

"Comfy." She yanks it from his hand and begins toweling, almost scraping at her skin.

He doesn't bother looking at her. He's practiced at not noticing naked Kara Thrace. It makes her a little sad that his eyes don't flicker anymore.

It's finally too much, and even hungover and dead tired, she's ready to kick something. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that bullshit."

He looks at her, really looks at her, and something flickers in his eyes before he shifts. Away, as if he's afraid she'll hit him. "I saw you leaving his quarters, Kara."

No need to ask which 'he' is being referred to. Lee doesn't have his own room. She glares. "My business, Helo."

"Yeah. Your business."

And it hurts that he is condemning her. She grits her teeth and finishes dressing, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing. He's just one more person unimpressed with her frakking up. Well, frak him. But it's Helo, and she doesn't stalk out and leave him standing there.

"Kara, what I don't get is why." He sounds confused, "Why him?"

"Because you're off-limits!" She explodes, unable to keep the words back. "I needed--" Wanting to hurt back, to strip some of his calm from him, she adds, "I talked to her the other day, you know. Your little Cylon girlfriend. She still thinks we'll forget she's not human."

Maybe the tone of her voice betrays her, but he doesn't rise to the bait, instead, he sighs. "Kara..."

"Frak you, Karl. Just--"

"Hey." His hands close on her shoulders and he shakes her a little. "This is me, Starbuck. Remember?"

"Yeah." She slumps, almost lets herself lean against him. He carefully wraps his arms around her, as if he knows this is a fleeting thing. That in five seconds she'll be Starbuck again and hugging Starbuck isn't allowed.

He pulls back first. "Now let's get you to bed."

"Yeah." Feeling numb again and ready to fall over, she lets him wrap an arm around her waist and lead her back to quarters. "I'm an ass."

"Yup."

She sighs, almost regrets it as her stomach twinges. Then exhaustion shoves the nausea out of the way. "You're an ass, too."

"Maybe. But I'm a nice ass who's going to put you to bed."

Kara decides sticking her tongue out at him is too much effort and settles for tipping her head to the side and thunking him with it. Her ears ring a little, and she realizes that wasn't too bright. But then, she never is.

"In you go."

Staring at her rack, Kara contemplates refusing, falling over, and sleeping on the floor.

But Helo is very well-versed in putting a drunk Starbuck into bed, and shortly, that's where she is. "Sorry 'bout the Cylon crack." she mumbles as the world closes in.

"No you're not."

He's right. But she's not awake enough to explain the levels and subtleties of her apology. Besides. Starbuck doesn't do subtle.

-f-


End file.
